


Tell Me That You Feel It Too

by etonnant67



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Angst, Brief mentions of Depression, Canon Compliant, Lots Of Sad, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Pining, SMTown Chile, brief mentions of excessive drinking, taemin is VERY SAD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 00:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17570795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etonnant67/pseuds/etonnant67
Summary: Taemin begs for love in the middle of a cold, cold winter.





	Tell Me That You Feel It Too

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song by [Lyves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DYlXNgtTnDY).
> 
> This has two different temporal settings: The present day portions are all set during SMTown Chile and the past sections take place between April 2018 to right after New Years Day.
> 
> A few other notes:  
> \- Chile is in both the western and southern hemispheres (yes, I know, very confusing) so it's currently summer in Santiago.  
> \- I know very little Spanish so I'm extremely sorry for all the terrible Spanish in this fic (maybe next time I'll just stick to setting my fic in places that speak the same languages I do)  
> \- this is extremely unbeta'd cause I DO NOT HAVE THE TIME.

They’ve never gone this long, it’s never been this way, they’ve never felt so far apart.

It’s been years, more than half their lifetimes, enough time that parts of Taemin feel like they didn’t exist, _couldn’t exist_ , before having been brought to the surface by Jongin. Like parts of Taemin weren’t born until he found them reflected outside of himself, in his best friend’s eyes and smile and voice. Like parts of Taemin could never have been born without Jongin by his side.

Maybe that’s why this silence cuts so deeply.

Santiago is the type of city that screams. The streets call out to you, asking you to explore the side alleyways and back streets, each sidewalk promising to tell you a story. And the air pulls at you, thick and heavy, whispering hot secrets in your ear, begging you to give in to the January summer heat. It’s too much for Taemin to handle. Spanish is confusing and the fans are so loud, shouting his name, breathless for his attention. The wall of sound is too much, reminding him of the gaping quiet sitting next to him.

So he hides, going straight from the airport to his hotel room, brushing off Kibum’s concerned touch and Baekhyun’s sideways glance.

_“I’m fine. Just jet lagged.”_

They don’t make eye contact when he brushes past. But Taemin can feel the weight of Jongin’s eyes on his back, tracing his steps as he weaves his way out of the terminal.

He goes straight to bed, shucking off his jacket and jeans, burrowing himself underneath the soft blankets. He leaves the blinds open, letting the mid morning sun streak it’s way across the hotel room. It’s a nice reminder that the world is still alive.

He doesn’t rouse when Kibum comes in almost an hour later. He tugs the blankets over his head, pretending to be asleep when Kibum whispers his name, worry edging into his words. Taemin lays still until Kibum gives up and the zippered sound of him unpacking take over. He waits until he hears the bathroom door close and the sound of the shower sputtering on before poking his head from under the sheets, fumbling underneath his pillow for his phone. His heart jumps into his throat at the kakaotalk notifications blinking at him from his home screen.

Three new messages.

He opens the app and sees that Moonkyu’s posted in the group chat.

 **Moonkyu:** buena suerte taeminnie y jonginnie!

 **Moonkyu** : i totally looked that up on google translate, i dont know any spanish.

And that he’s messaged Taemin directly:

 **Moonkyu:** how are you holding up taemin-ah? Are you ok?

Taemin stares at the words, wanting to come up with an answer. His fingers feel heavy, like the effort of tapping out the right hangul would take the strength of a million people.

Maybe things would have been easier if it had felt this difficult two weeks ago.

His phone buzzes in his hand and he freezes at the name.

 **Jongin:** mucho gracias Hyung! Or is it gracias mucho? spanish is hard.

_Fuck._

It’s dumb and masochistic and he _knows better_ but Taemin still scrolls down their message thread.

Jongin’s last message blinks up at him.

 **Jongin:** I don’t know, Taemin. I don’t think i know what to say to you.

Two weeks can feel like a thousand years.

Uncertainty hurts the most.

“I can see you, you know.” Kibum stands in the bathroom door frame, wrapped in one of the big fluffy hotel robes, his hair wet from the shower. “I know you’re awake.”

Taemin slips his phone back under his pillow and watches as Kibum walks over to the other bed and starts rummaging through his suitcase, taking out tiny travel size bottles of whatever expensive skincare creams have wormed their way into his routine this month.

“And I know that you’re watching me, Taeminnie,” Kibum says, not looking up from his bag. “The least you could do is say something.”

“Something,” Taemin mutters, under his breath. He rolls over, facing the ceiling. The overhead fan spins lazily above him. He sighs, the harsh breath hurting his chest. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“I feel like you do,” Kibum says. “If you were all out of words, then you wouldn’t be hiding in bed, staring obsessively at your phone.”

There’s movement and Kibum comes and sits down on the corner of Taemin’s bed, the mattress dipping down at the sudden weight.

“You should talk to him, Taemin,” Kibum says, his voice quiet. He places one hand on Taemin’s leg, the smooth movement of his fingers, rubbing soothing circles on his calf through the blanket. Taemin flinches at the touch.

“Why would I say, Hyung?” Taemin says, a bitter tightness in his chest. “It’s talking that got me into this shit in the first place.” The ghost of their last night together fills his eyes, the cold press of the wind off the Han blowing around their two bodies in the air of the late December night, the warm distance between their faces as Jongin bit his lip and bowed his head, to hide. . .what? Shame? Loss? Denial? Regret? The memory twists at Taemin’s insides. His eyes burn and he squeezes them shut, trying to will the image down, back to the trenches of his mind where he’s struggled to banish it.

“You could tell him what you’re feeling.” Kibum’s voice is gentle. “You could tell him that you miss him? That you need him? That he’s still your best friend and that he means everything to you?”

Taemin can’t stop the half sob that bubbles up from his chest. He clenches his fist into the sheets, trying to keep his tears at bay.

“I don’t think he thinks of himself as my best friend anymore, Hyung,” Taemin whispers, his voice gravelly with sadness. “I think I might have fucked that up.”

The bed shifts and Taemin opens his eyes to watch Kibum lay down next to him, his arms tucked underneath his head.

“Stop this,” Kibum says. “Don’t say that shit. I don’t believe it and I know that you don’t either.”

“I--”

“No.” Kibum cuts him off, his voice sharp. “You and Jongin have known each other forever. You two talk _everyday_. How are you going to give up on something like that? How could you?”

An electric wave of sadness crests through Taemin’s body, pulling him under. He loses his careful control and he starts to cry, tears running down his cheeks. He turns on his side, curling into Kibum, letting Kibum’s warm arms wrap around his middle.

“Oh Taeminnie,” Kibum says into his hair. “It’s not the end. You both need to listen to each other. Hell, you need to listen to _yourself_. You and Jongin have built too much together for this to be it.”

Taemin lets himself sob. Silence shouldn’t hurt this much, but when it comes to Jongin everything has always burned too strong. It only makes sense that the quiet would cut this deeply. His sobs don’t seem to have an end. He’s carried so much of this pain around with him for so long --since he realized the true depth of his love for his best friend, since Jongin gave him that last shocked, shattered glass look in the middle of a frozen night. Sadness has a way of meshing into your bones.

Taemin cries until his tongue feels heavy and his body feels dry. He comes back into himself, feeling the warmth of Kibum’s hands smoothing down his back. He  takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself down.

“You’re gonna be ok, Taemin,” Kibum says into his hair. “Nothing ever ends unresolved. You and Jongin love each other too much for it to just end up like this.”

Taemin closes his eyes again and burrows his face into the crook of Kibum’s neck. He smells so nice; the crisp scent of eucalyptus and mint clinging to his skin after his shower. Taemin feels young like this, like he’s 14 again and afraid of the future, with Kibum playing the role of good hyung—hugging him close and telling him that the world isn’t as cruel as he imagines it to be.

Back then, it had almost been easy for Taemin to believe him. Now, with a decade of reality and deep blue bruises on his soul, Kibum’s words ring hollow.

“I don’t think we have the same type of love,” Taemin says, his voice quiet. “I think I love him in the wrong way.”

Kibum sighs and tightens his hold around Taemin’s waist.

“Then maybe you two will have to find a way that works for both of you. Something that makes you both feel warm.”

“I don’t think I know how to do that.” Taemin swallows hard, the gulp rasping down his throat. “I’ve always loved him in the only way that I know how. This is the only way I know.”

“And he’s always loved you back, right?” Kibum’s voice is demanding, even in its softness. “That’s always been enough for him. It will still be enough now.”

“How will I know?” Taemin pleads. “How do I know that you’re right?”

“ _Talk_ _to him_ ,” Kibum says. “That’s the only way for the two of you to work this through.”

Taemin falls quiet again. He doesn’t want to tell Kibum about the fear and ice in Jongin’s eyes when Taemin had finally told him the secret that he’d been carrying around. Kibum hadn’t seen the coldness in Jongin’s stance, frigid enough to rival the winter night, and the way that he’d closed off as soon as the last of Taemin’s words had slipped from his mouth, crystallizing into tiny white clouds suspended in black blue sky.

Up till then Taemin hadn’t quite understood how dangerous words could really be. Now he knows.

Now, he thinks, that maybe silence is actually better.

\---

Wintertime has always been hard on him.

Loneliness haunts him, standing at every junction, waiting for Taemin to blindly turn the corner and crash into it. It’s been his constant companion, lurking next to him in the quiet of his dorm, hanging in the wings, waiting to wrap itself around him once he rushes off stage, the sounds of thousands of fans screaming his name still echoing in his ears. It’s always threatened to cling, it’s always been ready for him.

And winter--with it’s early nights and cold, cold air and long, deep darkness--is when the loneliness creeps closer, trying to coax him in further, offering him a soft shelter from the biting wind. It’s always so hard for Taemin to say no.

And Seoul changes with the season. The city glitters under the frost, the lights taking on a new life, shouting their brightness against the sky. It’s beautiful, the way everything hushes under the first soft snow, the way that the city’s energy softens, people coming closer together, trying to ward off the chill. Taemin tries to find bits of comfort tucked into the edges of each day. It’s a battle.

But Jongin has always been his warmth. Winter time is their time. The long nights have always given them more hours to hide together; running away to their childhood homes to watch movies and play games, to tiny hole-in-the-walls where they charm the ahjummas and eat their weight in seafood pajeon, to long late night talks sitting by the Han, just the two of them laughing and whispering to one another. Jongin has always kept the loneliness away. He has always known how to help. Jongin has always been his heat.

This winter bloomed with a different kind of loneliness, the snow heavy with a dark sadness and the wind rough with a thousand different types of need—needs that Taemin has spent his whole life trying to bury, digging deep holes in the ground, telling himself that these sorts of feelings aren’t the type to be seen out in the open. That he has a career. And his group. His family. And his fans, an image that he has to protect.

But he didn’t realize. That even the deepest secrets will find a way to bloom, poking through to the surface, one by one.

The first secret pushed through in April. When he and Jongin finally both had a free weekend at the same time so they locked themselves in one of the dance studios all day, just for old times sake. Three hours in, both of them breathless and sticky with sweat and Taemin flopped down on the floor and stared up at the yellow fluorescent lights, his limbs aching.

“I’m gonna die here,” he wailed. “You killed me. I’m too old to still practice this hard.”

The music stopped playing and was replaced with the quiet boom of Jongin’s laugh.

“Old already?” Jongin asked. He rolled his head from side to side, working out the kinks in his neck. “Time for retirement? Or maybe it’s time for the army? Give our noble nation the last dregs of your youth?”

Taemin cringed and sat up.

“Ugh don’t say army _please_. Jinki-hyung is going in December and I’m trying to pretend that that’s not happening.”

Jongin paused and looked at Taemin through his reflection in the mirror.

“Are you scared?” He asked him. “To see Jinki-hyung go?”

Taemin bit his lip. He nodded.  He didnt have the words, not even for Jongin, to describe how afraid he is to say goodbye to Jinki, if even only for a year and a half. About how he’s scared of the space that will be left behind when his hyung goes away. About how he doesn’t know how he’ll handle the gaping hole of Jinki’s absence next to the forever wound, festering and scarlet, that’s bled heavily since last winter, staining every minute of his day. Sometimes there aren’t any words for that type of loneliness.

But still, somehow, Jongin got it. He came over and crouched down next to Taemin, balancing on the balls of his feet. Taemin peeres at him through his sweaty fringe; at the way that Jongin’s face ( _with all of it’s familiar angles and gentle lines, if he could, Taemin would slip into the contours of his face, feel the easy way that Jongin breathes, and the warm beat of his heart_ ) is soft with concern. He’s so beautiful.

“I’m not going anywhere, Taeminnie,” Jongin said.  He reached over and took Taemin’s hand, linking their fingers together. Taemin nodded and looked at the place where their fingers join, his own small fingers, grasped firmly in Jongin’s longer, thicker ones. Jongin’s hand was warm and soft and Taemin squeezed it tightly. Like he was trying to stop him from floating away.

Taemin always wanted him to stay near. But he wanted him even closer.

He’s not sure when he started to feel this way. He’d been vaguely aware of the fact that he’s liked men. It’d been a part of his reality for as long as he could remember ever feeling any sort of attraction to another human being. At first, he tried to hide it, tried to tuck it away, having always known that it was a secret that he would have to keep to himself. But he learned that there is only so much posturing, only so many smiling lies that he can give to the world before the subterfuge starts to burn away at your soul. So he accepted it. Accepted the love that he needed. Acknowledged the love that made him whole.

Everyone who needed to know knew. Kibum. Minho. Jinki. Moonkyu. Wonshik. And Jongin. Of course, Jongin. They’d all loved him the same.

But the way that his heart sped up when he heard Jongin’s voice and the way that he wanted, more than anything, to wrap himself in his best friend’s arms and the way that his mind went straight to Jongin at the start of everyday and in those last few moments before he fell asleep at night. That. That was different. That intensity. That _need_. That was new. That was his secret.

Jongin sat down next to him, his legs parallel with Taemin’s, their knees pressing together. He didn’t let go of his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Jongin asked. He leanedhis head against Taemin’s shoulder, the coarse fabric of his cap worrying against the soft skin of Taemin’s neck. Taemin didn’t  move away, but instead, relaxedinto Jongin’s solid frame. “You’ve gone all silent and weird on me.”

“I--” Taemin started. He looked at their reflections in the studio mirror, at the way that their bodies melded together, at the ease between them, built through so many years of love.

He shifted, just enough, that Jongin raised his head and turned to face him, surprise on his face.

“Taemin?” he asked, his eyes wide.

Taemin opened his mouth, closed it. Bit his lip.

“Jongin, I--” he swallowed. Their faces were so close. “Will you let me do this?” he whispered.

“Do what?” Jongin leaned in closer, so close that Taemin could see the each individual eyelash.

“Please don’t hate me,” Taemin whispered,his voice quivering. And then he leaned in to kiss him.

Jongin’s whole body froze then thawed, his lips parting with a quiet sigh and his free hand coming up to tangle in Taemin’s hair. He kissed Taemin back with a kindness, with a sweet understanding and Taemin _ached_.

If a touch could be a fire, if a kiss could be a fever, then this, Taemin thought, this would be that embrace.

 

\---

He stays in bed.

 

He falls asleep in Kibum’s arms, the jet lag and exhaustion finally catching up with him. Hours later, he wakes up alone, the late afternoon sun low in the sky.

 

Taemin sits up, his head heavy and groggy from crying.

 

“Tonight’s press conference was cancelled,” Kibum says. He sitting on his own bed, typing on his laptop. “You can sleep for as long as you want.” He doesn’t look up from what he’s working on.

 

Taemin nods, squinting in the low sunlight. He runs his fingers through his hair, wincing at the way his fingers snag on the tangles.  

 

“I’m gonna shower,” he mumbles.

 

Kibum nods at him. “Good idea.”

 

Taemin shuffles into the bathroom and into the shower, blindly fumbling with the fancy silver fixtures. The water streams out,scalding hot, burning his skin. He doesn’t move away. The singe feels good.

He stays in the shower far too long, until his fingers wrinkle and his body feels water logged. He dries himself off with one of the thick hotel towels and then wanders out of the bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist.

 

Kibum has the tv on, tuned to an American medical drama, Spanish subtitles running along the bottom of the screen. He’d ordered room service and a tray of food—soup and bread and wine and what Taemin vaguely recognizes as empanadas—is spread out on the bed in front of him.

 

“All better?” Kibum asks, taking a sip of his wine. “Did you leave any water for the rest of Santiago?”

 

“Fuck off, Hyung,” Taemin replies, going over to his own suitcase to dig out a t-shirt and sweatpants.

 

Kibum shrugs and turns up the tv, the foreign sounds of panicked doctors filling the room.

 

Taemin goes over to Kibum’s bed and flops down next to him. He plucks the glass of wine from between his hyung’s fingers and takes a sip. Warm red sweetness explodes across his tongue and he hums, savoring the flavor.

 

“Here,” Kibum says, pushing the empanadas towards him. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

 

Taemin considers fighting him off, but, almost as if on cue, his stomach growls, giving him away. Sighing, he grabs an empanada off the plate, biting into the cheesy center.

 

They lay in silence, the television flickering in front of them.

 

“Can you actually understand all of this?” Taemin asks Kibum after a while.

 

“More or less. It’s a good way to keep up on my English.”

 

“You keep up on your English by watching fake doctors dramatically cut people open and then fuck each other?”

 

Kibum shrugs. “You take what you can get where you can get it.”

 

The show ends and transitions into a glaringly loud commercial for laundry detergent in rapid fire Spanish. Kibum picks up his phone from where it sits abandoned on the nightstand and hums.

 

“Donghae-hyung just texted me and said that a bunch of people are going to go drink in Heechul-hyung’s room,” Kibum says. “He’s inviting us along.”

 

Taemin looks up at Kibum, face blank. It would be nice, he thinks. It’s been a while since he’d seen Donghae and Hyukjae-hyungs. He used to see them--he and Jongin would go over to Donghae and Hyukjae’s shared apartment at least once a month and the four of them would stay up late into the night drinking soju and eating spicy take-out fried chicken. They don’t really do that anymore. It’s hadn’t been the same with just three.

 

“I don’t know, hyung,” he replies. “I might just want to go back to sleep.”

 

Kibum sighs.

 

“I’ve already asked and Donghae-hyung says that Jongin won’t be there,” Kibum says, abruptly. “So you don’t have to hide this time.”

 

Taemin opens his mouth to protest but the look on Kibum’s face tells him to not even bother. Kibum knew the real reason why he hadn’t wanted to go.

 

“Fine,” Taemin says with a sigh. “Let’s go.”

 

Kibum grins at him. “Excellent.”

 

Heechul, being Heechul, had somehow talked the company into letting him have the penthouse suite. It’s a huge space, taking up what Taemin can only estimate is more than half the top floor. The overhead lights are dimmed and someone had put music on, smooth R&B softly playing in the background. Windows overlooking the bustling late night city make up an entire wall, the lights from below casting a cool glow through the room. The door to the balcony is open, a cool night time breeze curling through the room. There’s a bar bisecting the sitting area where Chanyeol and Minseok are fiddling around with bottles of pisco, making only god knows what. Joohyun, Amber and Hyoyeon are sitting on one of the black leather couches, speaking in low voices, sipping at glasses of wine. Some of the NCT boys are huddled in a corner drinking beer and laughing loudly. Heechul catches Taemin’s eye from where he’s sitting on one of the sofas, caught up in conversation with Baekhyun and Seulgi. He raises his wine glass in acknowledgement. Taemin nods in response.

 

“Hey you both made it!” Donghae says, appearing next to Kibum, a glass of red wine in each hand. He passes them both off to Kibum and Taemin. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you Taeminnie! You alright?”

 

Taemin nods and takes a sip of the wine handed to him. It’s even better than the wine he’d stolen from Kibum earlier.

 

“Alright,” he replies. “Adjusting to the time change.”

 

Donghae looks at him with a small frown on his face before his face breaks into a huge smile. He puts an arm around Taemin’s shoulder, drawing him close.

 

“Come on,” he says in Taemin’s ear, steering him away. “Let’s go talk to Hyukjae, he’s been asking about you.”

 

Taemin finds himself at a table with Hyukjae, Donghae, and Junmyeon, listening to them swap stories about their recent travels, a bottle of wine, split between the four of them. Somewhere into his third glass, Taemin finally starts to feel the ball of sadness sitting in his stomach start to unravel and he exhales, melting into his seat. No one brings up Jongin. No one asks him how he’s handling it. And for the first time in what feels like a thousand years, Taemin slips into the comfort of conversation with his old friends.

 

Taemin makes a tour of the room, eventually ending up out on the balcony with Chanyeol and Baekhyun drinking pisco straight from the bottle and looking out over the city. Santiago is beautiful like this, Taemin decides. It’s just the right type of loud from up above.

 

“It’s pretty, right?” Baekhyun says, gesturing at the city lights. “It’s so different from Seoul. I like it.”

 

“You like it cause it’s loud like you are,” Chanyeol retorts. He takes the bottle from Taemin, taking a long sip.

 

“You’re one to talk.” Baekhyun flips him off. “When did you die and turn into Kyungsoo?”

 

“Where is Kyungsoo?” Taemin asks. “I don’t think I’ve seen him tonight.”

 

“He’s in bed probably, watching movies,” Baekhyun says, rolling his eyes. “You know how he is.”

 

“Yeah,” Chanyeol offers. “And someone had to stay behind with Jong--oh shit. Sorry.” Chanyeol claps a hand over his own mouth and Baekhyun reaches over to punch him, hard, on the arm.

 

Taemin just shakes his head. “I get it, guys,” he says.

 

“He misses you you know,” Chanyeol says after a beat of silence. He places a hand on Taemin’s shoulder. “A lot. He’s taking it really hard.”

 

“Is he?” Taemin asks. He tries hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Doesn’t he have her now?”

 

“You know it’s not like that,” Baekhyun counters. “It’s never been like that.”

 

“Well it feels like that.” Taemin takes a deep drink from the bottle. The alcohol burns on its way down. “It feels really awful.”

 

“He’s been wanting to talk to you,” Baekhyun says. “Really badly. But everyone says you don’t want to see him.”

 

Taemin’s heart jumps at the thought of Jongin reaching out to him. He inhales, deeply, trying to tamp down on the feeling.

 

“I don’t know what I want,” he says. “I don’t know if I can.”   _I don’t know. I don’t think i know what to say to you._ “It might just be better this way.”

 

“Is it, though?” Chanyeol asks. “I hate watching two people I care about struggle like this.”

 

“It is.” Taemin says as firmly as his tongue, clumsy with alcohol, will allow. “It is.”

 

\----

 **_jongin:_ ** _come meet me._

 **_Taemin:_ ** _now?_

 **_Jongin:_ ** _i miss u._

 

Night time was their time. It was when they had the most hours to spare, when it was easiest to get away. It had always been this way. But they’d learned that somethings are just easier under the thick blanket of midnight.

 

They found something--in themselves, in each other--on that afternoon in April. Something small and special and something just large enough to fill up the little empty spaces that had ached in Taemin’s heart. Something that was new and old and had always been right there, right in front of them. Something perfect. Their friendship hadn’t changed, not really, but their love had moved, gone deeper, settling into their skin.

 

Night time was the time when they would sneak away and lock their doors, giving into something so gentle and intimate and _easy_ that it felt like breathing.

 

Taemin learned all the things that made Jongin murmur and gasp and scream and ache. Jongin gave and gave and gave and gave until all Taemin could feel was heat. Jongin brought Taemin deeper and deeper, until Taemin wasn’t really sure where he began and where his best friend ended. And maybe, really, this is all Taemin ever wanted. For the two of them to merge into one.

 

Maybe, Taemin thought, maybe this is love. Maybe this is happiness.

\---

It’s late, well after he and Kibum drunkenly stumble back into their room when Taemin’s phone buzzes.

He fumbles around in the darkness, his hand slapping out from under the sheets to the nightstand where he nearly knocks over the lamp before his fingers close over his phone. Half asleep and still mostly drunk, Taemin answers without checking to see who’s calling.

“Hello?”

There’s a harsh laugh on the other end; short and rough like a cough. Taemin would know it anywhere.

“ _Hey, Taeminnie_ .” Jongin’s voice is like liquid, his vowels slipping into one another as he murmurs into his mouthpiece. “ _I didn’t think you’d pick up._ ”

Taemin doesn’t know what to say. He rubs a hand over his face, trying to will himself into full consciousness. He doesn’t want to do this now. He _can’t_ do this now.

“Are you drunk?” Taemin says urgently, his voice low. “Why are you calling me?”

“ _I’m a little drunk_ ,” Jongin replies. He hiccups. “ _Well, maybe more than a little. But that doesn’t explain why you picked up._ ”

“I picked up because I didn’t know it was you.” Kibum lets out a small sigh from his bed and Taemin freezes, praying that he stays asleep. Kibum snuffles and then snores.

“ _What if you had known that it was me? Would you have still answered?_ ” Jongin is bold when he’s drunk. Taemin isn’t used to it--Jongin almost never drinks and especially never enough for him to be this wasted. He doesn’t know what to do with this Jongin.

“Why are you calling me all of a sudden?” Taemin pleads. “Why now? After all this time?”

“ _I miss you_ .” Jongin’s voice sounds so close. “ _Chanyeol-hyung and Baekhyun-hyung said that you might too. I just--”_ he breaks off. “ _I just miss you so much. I wanted to see you so badly tonight and I couldn’t and I miss you, I lov--”_

“No,” Taemin says, his voice more forceful than he intends. “You can’t talk like that. I--I can’t do this. You’re drunk and it’s late and I can’t fucking _do this_.”

“ _Taemin---_ ”

“No,” Taemin says again. His heart is racing and he feels nauseous. “I can’t. You--you should go to sleep, Jongin. We have to perform tomorrow.”

“ _But Taemin_ \--”

“Goodnight, Jongin.” Taemin ends the call before Jongin can respond. He lays back down and lets his phone slip to the floor with a clatter. He stares at the ceiling.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know.

\---  

They didn’t bother hiding it. There was nothing to hide, after all.

They held hands, but hadn’t they always? They shared the same bed, whenever time would allow it. But that was the same too.

They spent all their time together, they called each other everyday, they shared all their secrets. Why bother hiding the things that had always defined their relationship?

But they also kissed and embraced and refused to let go. They would touch and hold on and whisper to each other, their lips just brushing their necks, in a way that was too _close_ , too _heavy_ with want, that maybe there were somethings that they should have kept locked away.

“You and Jongin.” Changmin cornered him in one of the SM hallways late on a November afternoon.

“What about me and Jongin?” Taemin tapped through his phone, reading the latest string of texts in his group chat.

“Put the fucking phone _down_ , Taemin,” Changmin snapped, shoving Taemin’s hand down from his face.

Taemin dropped his hand down to his side, staring up at Changmin with wide eyes.

“Changmin-hyung?” Taemin said, his voice trembling at the stern look on Changmin’s handsome face.

“You and Jongin,” Changmin repeated, more slowly this time, “Need to be more careful.”

“What do you mean? More careful about what?”

Changmin sighed. “Look, I don’t care that you’re gay, I’ve never given a shit about anyone’s preferences, and I don’t care that you and Jongin are dating or whatever---”

Taemin’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t think Jongin and I are dating. . .”

“Semantics,” Changmin said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But you and Jongin need to be more discreet.” He lowered his voice, his words just a murmured rumble. “You and I both know that the managers generally don’t care what we do as long as we keep it quiet, but even Soo-Man-seonsaengnim is starting to take notice. You two need to reel it in.”

Taemin’s hands go clammy with sweat and he wiped them against the rough cotton of his joggers.

“I don’t get what you’re talking about,” he said, quietly

“I’m talking about the fact that you two are way too open,” Changmin replied. “People are starting to notice, people outside of SM. Do you really think you two can survive a Dispatch leak? With the way that you’re both carrying on?” He sighed loudly and ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, all I’m saying is that you two need to be _careful_. Management is noticing. And if you’re not careful, then they’ll take matters into their own hands and god knows how the fuck that will end up.” He placed one hand on Taemin’s shoulder. “I don’t want to be harsh Taeminnie, but I’ve watched too many people have their relationships ripped apart like this. Do you have any idea how hard it was to watch Yunho-hyung and Jaejoong-hyung have to deal with the way that Management tried to cover them up? Do you know the toll that it took on them to have management micromanage their every move? Or Donghae-hyung and Hyukjae-hyung? They’re better at keeping it quiet but the point still stands. You and Jongin need to put some boundaries in place.”

“But what if I don’t want to keep it quiet?” A wave of irritation washed over Taemin. The thought of his hyungs having to contort and hide themselves from prying eyes made him want to scream. Hadn’t things changed enough since then? “Why should I? What we’re doing isn’t wrong.”

“But what about your _career_ , Taemin?” Changmin pleaded. “What about Jongin’s career? You’re both at the top of your games. Do you want to lose that? Is all of this worth losing?”

Taemin wanted to tell him that Jongin was worth the world, that Jongin was and _had always been_ his first, his last, his everything. That he’d give Jongin every stage light, every open arena, every last song and beat in his body. Jongin was worth that. He loved him that much.

Love.

Taemin didn’t know why it had taken him this long to realize. He loved Jongin. Loved him in a way that filled him with excitement, loved him in a way that unearthed their friendship,  loved him in a way that made him ache. Taemin loved him. More than a friend. He loved him with a promise of forever.

He shook his head and laughed to himself, quietly.

“Taemin?” Changmin asked.

“No,” Taemin said, looking down at his battered sneakers. “I don’t want to lose all of that.” He looked up at Changmin again, making eye contact. “You’re right, Hyung. I’ll be more careful.”

Changmin’s face collapsed with relief. “That’s all I ask, Taemin.”

Maybe all they’d have would be their love. Maybe that would have to be enough.

\---

SMTown has always been one of Taemin’s favorite things.

There’s something special about being on stage with all of his friends, about being able to perform in front of thousands of people who love all of the same people he loves. To be able to run and joke around with Kibum but Junmyeon and Sehun and Amber and Yerim too.  It’s really nice.

But today, he’s still mostly hungover, his head pounding from the lingering fumes of alcohol. He runs through his songs, his body on autopilot as he works through the choreography. He goes backstage once he’s done, escaping the burning glare of the stage lights. He collapses on the couch in the green room, avoiding eye contact with everyone else, an arm flung over his eyes.

He’s just starting to doze off when the cool condensation of a water bottle is pressed against the side of his arm. He shifts and sees Jongin, hovering above him, bottle in hand.

“Here,” Jongin says, holding it out. “You look like you need it.”

Taemin sits up and nods at him. Jongin is dressed for the stage. He’s wearing a bright red suit that sets off the deep tones of his skin perfectly. The makeup noonas did a good job today--his hair is swept back from his face and his eyes are lightly lined with gray eyeliner. He looks good.

“Thanks.” Taemin uncaps the bottle and takes a sip. The water soothes its way down his throat and tamps down his headache.

“Look,” Jongin starts to say. He stops. Looks down at his shoes. He seems so uncomfortable, standing there, trying to choose his words carefully. Another, earlier time, Taemin would have pinched him on the arm and teased him. _What’s wrong_ ? He would have asked. _Nervous?_ “I didn’t mean to call you last night.” Jongin sighs. Bites his bottom lip, worrying it in between his teeth. “I wasn’t really myself last night.”

“So you didn’t mean it?” Taemin doesn’t know why he asks. It’s not like he wanted Jongin to talk to him. Even now, with Jongin an arm’s breadth away from him, the closest he’s been since that last cold night in December, Taemin doesn’t know if he wants to lean in or run away.

“I don’t know,” Jongin replies. He messes with a stray lock of his hair. Taemin has to suppress a wince. The stylist noonas are gonna kill him. “But I do miss you. I. . .I miss you a lot. That wasn’t a lie.”

“But do you have an answer for me? Do you love me?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. The second the last word leaves his mouth, Taemin wants to stop time, to reel the sentences back into his mouth. He looks down at his hands. “I’m sorry, Jongin.” His voice cracks.

“Don’t be,” Jongin whispers. Taemin can barely hear him over the echoes of the music from the stage.

“I don’t think I can do this now.” Taemin gets up from the couch, standing on shaky legs. “I’m sorry.” He turns away from Jongin, heading out of the green room. “I gotta--I gotta go change,” he mumbles. “You know, before we all have to go back on.”

“Right.” Jongin’s eyes dart from the doorframe to the floor to the doorknob to the mirror. He doesn’t make eye contact with Taemin. “Right.”

“Ok.” Taemin turns and leaves. He locks himself in the bathroom, squatting on the dirty floor, his head in his hands.

(Later, Taemin dances on stage. He waves at the crowd, he smiles so hard he can feel his face tugging at itself. He wraps Chanyeol in a one armed hug. He walks past Jongin. They don’t speak to each other.)

\---

 **Taemin:** can i see you tonight

 **Jongin:** tonight? Im not done with schedule until after midnight. I can maybe try

 **Taemin:** then lets meet at 1? At our spot by the Han

 **Jongin:** i can do that.

It was a cold night, the sky a deep dark.  Taemin had tried his best to stay warm, bundling himself in a thick wool scarf and his biggest winter coat, the fur lined hood pulled down low on his forehead. He leans over the railing, looking down on the rushing river below, the wind whipping up from the water, stinging the exposed skin of his face. This was their spot--a tiny inlet tucked away from the main traffic of the sidewalk, hidden from the glow of the street lamps.  He and Jongin had discovered it years ago--right after Taemin had debuted and they needed a place where the two of them could go and not have to deal with Taemin being recognized. They couldn’t deal with the possibility of having to abandon the river, the Han had always been their _place_. So they searched until they stumbled upon this area. A perfect place just for them. A place where they could always just be themselves.

“Hey.” Taemin turned around to see Jongin coming up behind him. He was extremely underdressed for the weather, only wearing an oversize hoodie and a beanie.

“Hey yourself,” Taemin replied. His words vaporized into icy clouds in front of him.  He straightened up and pulled Jongin in close with one arm. “You look like you’re freezing to death.”

Jongin leaned into Taemin’s embrace and sighed. “I rushed over here after filming for MuBank. I didn’t have enough time to properly change.” He pressed his nose into the skin of Taemin’s cheek. “You’re so warm.”

“You’re just cold.”

Jongin pressed a tiny kiss to Taemin’s cheek and then leaned away.

“Why did you want to see me?” Jongin asked. “Not that I mind seeing you, it’s just that it’s not really like you to want to meet in the middle of the night on the river like this.”

Taemin bit his lip and looked at his friend. His _best_ friend. The only person he’d ever wanted, the only person who had ever seen all of him. He saw the way that Jongin stared back at him, his eyes steady and full of concern. He looked at the way Jongin’s hands bunched in the pockets of his hoodie and Taemin thought about all the ways they’d held hands, all the ways they’d held on to him when he hurt, when he was alone, when he was afraid, when he felt empty and full and everything else in between. Taemin looked at Jongin and saw decades. He saw hope. He saw everything.

“I spoke to Changmin-hyung yesterday,” he said, finally. He opened his mouth, searching for the other words. Nothing came out.

“What happened?” Jongin asked, gently. “Is everything ok with him and Yunho-hyung?”

“Everything is fine.” Taemin swallowed hard. “That’s not it.” He exhaled, a dragon puff of air streaming in front of him. “He told me. . .he told me that we need to be more discreet. That management is becoming concerned. That this could really fuck up our careers if we’re not careful.” Taemin looked back out over the river, avoiding Jongin’s eyes. “And I don’t want that to happen,” he continued. “Music. . .Shinee. . .Exo. That means so much to me. So much to you. So I’m ok with keeping us more quiet. But, Jongin--” Taemin forced himself to turn around and look at the other man, trying his hardest to maintain eye contact “I won’t hide the way that I feel about you. I--I love you, Jongin. So much. More than anyone else.” Jongin’s eyes went wide and he gaped at Taemin. He had a shattered expression on his face, one that Taemin had never seen before. One that scared him with its unfamiliarity.

“Jongin?” Taemin whispered, his voice small. “Say something? Please?”

Jongin stared at him again and then bowed his head.

“Taemin,” he said, quietly. “I--”

“You what?” Taemin was pleading now. “What?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “You’re my best friend but I--I don’t know.”

“Then what have we been doing this entire time?” Taemin demanded. “What have all of these past few months been to you?”

“I--” Jongin sounded so small. “I don’t know. I have so much riding on me. So much riding on the group. My family--my mom? My sisters? How--” he stopped and looked up at Taemin again. “I don’t know what to do with this.”

“So you don’t know what to do with my love?” Taemin’s voice cracked. His throat felt like it was splitting in two.

“I. . .I want so many things so badly,” Jongin said. He grabbed Taemin’s hands in his own, gripping them tightly. “I want this to make sense.”

“What are you telling me, Jongin?” Taemin whispered. He suddenly felt very, very cold.

“I don’t know,” Jongin said. “I don’t know.”

 

Later, alone in bed, Taemin felt his phone vibrate.

 **Jongin:** I don’t know, Taemin. I don’t think i know what to say to you.

Taemin threw his phone across the room.

Maybe this should have been the one secret that he kept to himself.

\---

The push notification came through on New Year’s Day.

[DISPATCH] EXO’s Kai and BLACKPINK’s Jennie Discovered Together! More About The Latest Hot Couple Here!

What temperature is rejection.

\---

Taemin goes back to bed.

It’s safer here, underneath the covers. Kibum brings him dinner; rice and chicken and vegetables. Taemin picks at it and goes back to bed, leaving most of the food to grow cold on the plate.

Kibum tries to get him to come out, to see the rest of the city. Taemin doesn’t respond. Hyukjae-hyung and Heechul-hyung both text him, asking him to come up to their rooms again. Taemin switches off his phone.

The last bits of the day streak into dusk and Taemin doesn’t move.

He must have drifted off to sleep at some point because he jolts awake to the pounding sound of someone knocking at the door. Taemin squints at the clock at the bedside. It’s 9:30.  He sits still for a moment, hoping that whoever it is on the other side will go away. He spares a passing thought at the fact that Kibum may have forgotten his room card and is trying to get in, but he remembers that their manager has a spare set. There’s a pause and he gets ready to lay back down when it starts up again.

“Taemin, I know you’re in there,” Kyungsoo’s deep voice seeps through the door. “Get the fuck up and let me in.”

Taemin fumbles out of bed and unlocks the door. Kyungsoo is standing in the doorframe, wearing a black t-shirt, his glasses, and a frown.

“Took you long enough,” he says, pushing his way inside. Taemin follows behind him, turning on the bedroom lights.

Kyungsoo perches himself on the edge of Kibum’s bed and folds his legs. He points to Taemin’s unmade bed.

“Sit,” he says, firmly.

Taemin sits down and stares at Kyungsoo, looking extremely prim amongst the messy chaos of the hotel room. The two of them have never been particularly close, even though they are both close to Jongin. It’s not that he doesn’t like Kyungsoo, that’s not it at all, the two of them have just never really clicked.

“You need to talk to him,” Kyungsoo says. “You have to.”

Taemin rubs his hands across his face. His skin feels dry and he despite laying in bed for the better part of 5 hours, he feels exhausted.

“Of course you came here to talk to me about him,” Taemin says.

“Well I tried texting and calling you but it seems like someone turned off their phone,” Kyungsoo says’ a matter of factly. “So yes, I’m here.”

“I didn’t want to be bothered.”

“So?” Kyungsoo says. “You, hell _both of you_ , need to stop doing this to each other. You’re killing yourselves. And because Jongin apparently has the inability to use his voice anymore, I’m here to handle this for him.”

“What?”

“You’re hurting right now,” Kyungsoo says, breaking it down. “As you should be. But Jongin is a mess. I’ve never seen him this bad. He’s barely even eating, he’s not sleeping. I’ve never seen him cry this much.” He furrows his brow. “Jongin was scared. He is scared. And he tried to work it out on his own. But then he lost control and he’s suffering. Just as badly as you are.”

“It can’t be just as bad.” Taemin’s mouth tastes sour. “He didn’t have his heart broken. He’s not the one who got rejected. And anyways,” he lets out a bitter laugh, “he has Jennie doesn’t he? She can be there for him.”

“Oh my god,” Kyungsoo says under his breath. “You’ve got it wrong. Jongin and Jennie. . .that’s not real.”

Taemin’s mouth drops open. “What?”

“It’s not real,” Kyungsoo repeats. “SM and YG. . . Jennie has been in a bad spot recently and YG was trying for damage control. SM, being our stupid fucking company, had been trying to find a way to cover up you and Jongin, just like the tried to cover up Baekhyun being gay. So they decided to stage the whole thing. Jongin said yes because he was afraid of what would happen if he said _no_. So here we are.”

“It’s not real?”

Kyungsoo rolls his eyes. “Yes, not real. Try to keep up. And you would have known this, all of this, if you two would just _talk to one another_ .” He sighs. “Listen, Taemin. You and Jongin love each other, despite how Jongin reacted. He loves you. _Loves you_ . So much. You’re his fucking world. You don’t know everything that he’s told me about the way that he cares for you. About the way that he needs you and loves you. I don’t even think Jongin fully knows how deeply his love for you goes. But those past few months when you both tipped your relationship into something deeper meant everything to him.” Kyungsoo’s face softens at the memory. “Listening to him talk about you, about how warm and _full_ he felt with you. . .it made me want something like what you two had. Like it made me think that maybe, possibly, if I could find someone who loved me and cared for me even half  much as you two loved each other, then I would know how love felt.”

“Then why didn’t he tell me this in December?” Taemin asks. He feels empty, like he’s been hollowed out. “Why not then?”

“I can’t answer that for him, not really. But I know that he was scared. Is still scared. We all know that being gay in Korea isn’t easy. And loving someone as much as Jongin loves you is terrifying no matter what the gender. I think he felt freaked out. But go talk to him, Taemin,” Kyungsoo says. “Just do it. Please. For your sake and for his.”

Taemin takes a deep breath and straightens his spine. Maybe love is worth this.

“Ok.”

\----

Taemin wakes up early the next morning, rising from bed just after sunrise.

He dresses quickly, sliding into a worn pair of jeans and plain white t-shirt. He grabs a cap right before slipping out the door, pulling it low over his forehead. That should be enough, he thinks, to prevent anyone from recognizing him.

He wanders away from the hotel, following the main street. The city is waking up, cars slowly trickling on to the roads, people in work clothes coming out of their apartments, ready to start the new day. It feels a little like Seoul, in the way that the city moves at a quick pace, clicking towards the new day.

Taemin takes his time, admiring the architecture, so old and so intricate, the gray stone reminding him of the buildings in Spain and France. Santiago, he decides, is beautiful up close.

He walks until the sidewalks fill with people and until the sun sits high in the morning sky. It’s a warm morning and he’s grateful that he decided to wear a t-shirt thin enough that he can feel the comfortable heat  all of his body. It’d been so long since he’d felt the sun.

He turns a down a side street and is greeted by the rich smell of freshly made coffee. There’s a tiny blue storefront facing the street, the door left open. The hand painted sign on the door says _caftería_. Taemin tries to sound out the syllables, his tongue fumbling over the rounded vowels. He goes inside anyways.

It’s a tiny space; a few tables, a couch, and the kitchen divided from the rest of the cafe by a long wooden bar. It’s still empty-- no one there except for the sweet faced teenage girl manning the cash register, flipping through a magazine as she waits for the next customer. She smiles at him when he approaches her.

“Buenas,” she says.

“Um, hola?” Taemin tries to remember the right words. “Um. . .coffee por favor?”

She smiles at him and nods.

“Sure,” she says, in English this time. “One coffee coming right up. I’ll bring it to you.”

Taemin grins and nods at her. “Thank you.”

He settles down at a low, white washed table facing the door. A warm breeze swirls inside, mixing the air with the smell of sunlight and coffee. Taemin takes a deep breath.

“Here you go.” The girl appears, placing a green mug of milky coffee and a plate of cookies on the table in front of him. She points at the cookies. “ _Alfajores_ ,” she says. “I know it’s early but you look like you could use them. _Buen provecho_.”

Taemin picks up the coffee as she walks away, taking a sip. It’s warm and thick and strong in a way that spreads liquid warmth through his body. He closes his eyes, savoring the feeling.

He takes out his phone and opens his kakaotalk, scrolling until he finds the name he’s looking for.

The last text glares at him, the characters black and bold against the screen.

 **Jongin:** I don’t know, Taemin. I don’t think i know what to say to you.

Taemin bites his lip and taps out his message.

 **Taemin** : i think we should talk.

The response is almost immediate.

 **Jongin:** me too. I have so much to say.

Taemin puts his phone face down on the table top. He picks up one of the cookies and takes a bite. Coconut and caramel and sweetness.

Maybe Santiago's January summers were what he needed all along.

\---

Jongin is the one who comes to him.

Taemin is sitting in the green room again, waiting for his turn for soundcheck. Baekhyun and Jongdae are sitting on either side of him, bickering over something or another so Taemin just lays back, his eyes closed.

“Oh hey, Jonginnie,” Jongdae says. Taemin sits up and opens his eyes. Jongin is standing in front of them. He looks nervous, his hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Hey hyungs,” he says. “Can I--um, Taemin? Can I borrow you?”

Baekhyun and Jongdae glance between Taemin and Jongin in surprise. Taemin stands up from the couch and steps closer to Jongin.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go somewhere?”

They go outside, sneaking through the backdoor of the venue. It lets them out into a narrow alleyway, empty aside from a few wooden crates. Jongin perches himself on the concrete stairs, folding his legs in front of him. Taemin squeezes in next to him, leaning against the doorframe.

“It feels like it’s been a thousand years since we were this close together,” Jongin says. He rubs his hands over his arms, up and down, up and down, like he’s cold. “It’s weird. I’m not used to being away from you for so long.”

Taemin hums and stares at the crack in the asphalt in front of him. “It has been weird,” he whispers. “I’ve known you, how long? Since we were 12? I don’t think we’ve ever gone this long without talking.”

“Yeah.” Jongin falls silent. Taemin looks at him again, studying his side profile. His face is the same as it had been the last time they’d been this close. Logically, Taemin knows that it’s only been a few weeks, but Taemin feels like he’s lived an entire lifetime since the night on the Han. He feels like everything that had happened had left a deep cut on his heart. Part of him, a selfish part,  just wants to see that Jongin has felt the same pain.

“It’s been really hard,” Jongin says again. “Really, really hard.” He turns to face Taemin head on and, wait, there it is. There’s a fractured sadness lurking behind Jongin’s eyes, a broken glass hurt swimming in his deep brown eyes. “I’m so sorry, Taemin.”

Taemin folds his arms over his knees.

“Kyungsoo came by last night,” he says. “He told me that you had things to tell me. He told me a lot of things.”

Jongin nods. “Yeah, he told me that you and him talked. Sorry about that. Kyungsoo-hyung can be scary when he wants to be.”

Taemin shudders. “Scary is an understatement.”

Jongin fidgets with a stray thread on his pants and then exhales. “I feel like I should start with the hardest part,” he says, quietly. “I love you, Taemin.” He says it with conviction, with force. “I’ve always loved you. You’re so much to me, you’re my everything. I’ve never wanted anyone like I want you. I don’t know if I _could_ ever want anyone as much as I want you. And I think I was scared when you told me the first time, fuck, I think I was scared when you asked me yesterday, but I think I was scared because I’m afraid of what love means.”

“And you’re not scared now?” Taemin’s entire body feels hot like fire.

“I am scared,” Jongin says. “Of course I am. When you told me what Changmin-hyung had said to you, it scared the hell out me. So many people rely on me--my family, everyone in EXO--the thought of us being found out scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know if love was safe. But the thing is, Taemin, for as long as we’ve been apart, I realized that I’d fucked up. Because the thing is, the only safe thing in my life, the only safety that I’ve ever really known has been you. Love and safety are the same things for me. Because they’re both you.” Jongin leans in closer, so close that Taemin can make out the tiny sprinkling of freckles across his nose. He counts each one. “I ran because I didn’t know how to work through all of that. And it felt like you were miles ahead of me with all of this.” Jongin smiles. “But of course you did. You were always way more sure of yourself than I have ever been.”

“That’s not true,” Taemin says, breathlessly.

“It is.” Jongin nods. “And I’m still working through it all, but I want to do it with you. I only ever want to do everything with you. I can’t promise that I’m gonna get it all right but I want you to show me. I want to understand all of love with you.”

Jongin envelopes both of Taemin’s hands with his own. They’re as soft and warm as they ever have been.

“But what about Jennie?” Taemin asks.

“What about her?” Jongin scowls. “Fuck SM. She’s sweet and I like her, but not like that. I only went along with it cause they told me that Dispatch had caught us in Osaka. Do you remember that night? When we went dancing with Jaejoong-hyung and his friends from LA?”

The memory, blurry with time and alcohol, pops into Taemin’s mind. Jaejoong had taken them to one of the many gay clubs in the area. Feeling bold because they were in an unfamiliar city, they’d let themselves relax, dancing close in the middle of the dance floor and sitting with their limbs wrapped around each other in the VIP booth. It had been one of the best nights that Taemin could remember. It was the most free that he’d felt in years.

“I do,” Taemin says. He feels ill, the fact of them having been discovered souring his breaths. “ _Fuck_.”

Jongin nods. “Yeah the fuckers found us. They sent SM a picture of us kissing up against the wall to manager-nim’s email and everything.” His face pinches in anger. “I didn’t know what else to do. They said that we couldn’t risk something like that coming out. So they made me pretend to date Jennie.” He laughs to himself quietly. “I told her from the very beginning that I was in love with you. She said that ‘anyone with any sense could see that.’ Direct quote.”

Taemin laughs, the sound loud and ebullient, filling the short space between their lips. It feels good. Laughing feels good, Jongin’s hand in his own feels good, the two of them breathing the same air again feels so good.

He leans in and presses his lips against Jongin, kissing him gently. Jongin melts into the touch immediately, swiping at the seam of Taemin’s lips. They pull apart. That feels good too.

“Love you,” Taemin murmurs.

“Me too,” Jongin whispers. It feels like a prayer. It sounds like a promise.

\---

The stage feels different this time. Taemin dances like he believes in it, he sings like he means it. The crowd screams back at him, feeding off his energy and Taemin throws it all back as well as he can. He looks around him--a million lightsticks, a million hands in the air--all of his friends, no, all of his _family_ , on stage with him. Jongin catches his eye from across the stage, his face lit up in the lights. He waves and Taemin weaves his way over until they’re close enough to touch. Jongin reaches down and twines their fingers together. Chanyeol bounds in front of them, chasing after Minseok with a giant inflatable hammer. Seungwan and Yerim throw stuffed animals back into the crowd. Boa smiles and waves at the fans. Taemin looks up at Jongin and sees the smile on his face, warm and gentle.

That smile is louder than any silence.

  
  
  
  
  


 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought.
> 
> Again, still not writing much but if you want to creep on me, come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/intensencounter)


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